


Enjolras is Scared of Babies (and Nothing Else)

by ecrituredelafangirl



Series: Shenanigans [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: "i cannot reason how do I...?", Enjolras doesn't know how to baby, Enjolras just needs a minute, Gen, Like, M/M, Minor Angst, and Combeferre is just kind of perfect, and Feuilly is actually perfect, but everything ends up okay, he's clueless about infants, the child is present and she is making things difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredelafangirl/pseuds/ecrituredelafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finally meets Combeferre's new responsibility. And he has no idea what to think about it. And then Feuilly is perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjolras is Scared of Babies (and Nothing Else)

As was Enjolras’s way, he didn’t truly notice the child in the upper room of the Musian until such time as the fact smacked him in the face. It wasn’t that he was obtuse, Combeferre knew, quite the opposite. It was just that sometimes his friend got so very wrapped in his own missions, his own grand schemes for the betterment of humanity and the ultimate improvement of the treatment of the people, that he didn’t notice the smaller details. Like the baby resting on his best friend’s chest. 

“And Combeferre,” he finally said, a good 45 minutes into the meeting, “What are we doing about transportation to this weekend’s ra-what is that?”

And suddenly he saw. 

“What is what?” Combeferre asked, arching a sardonic eyebrow. 

“You… There is a child,” and here he gestured in an amusingly awkward fashion. When Combeferre feigned stupidity, like he didn’t know what his friend was getting at, Enjolras was forced to go on. “There is a child. On your chest.”

“O, yes,” Combeferre said, as though suddenly understanding, “I am aware.”

And Courfeyrac snorted behind him. He saw Enjolras give him a withering look before returning his attention to the matter at hand.

“…Why is there a child on your chest?” Enjolras asked. He leaned against the table he’d been standing at. Combeferre twirled his pen between his thumb and forefinger.  
“Because I couldn’t arrange a babysitter in time,” he shrugged. 

“Ah-I…” Enjolras tried before, in one motion, he pulled out the chair across from Combeferre and sat down gracefully. He rested his elbows on the tabletop and steepled his fingers, pressing them to his mouth. “I think what I’m trying to ask… Is why you have a child in the first place?” he asked. His eyebrows were furrowed. 

“Well… Because she’s mine,” Combeferre replied bluntly. Honesty is the best policy, he chanted silently, watching Enjolras’ eyes widen. 

Enjolras was pale, looking from the dark haired baby to his friend, obviously concerned. He took a deep breath as Combeferre watched and managed a “…how?”

“I don’t know the logistics, Enjolras, I just know I’m going with it,” he sighed. “She was on my doorstep on Tuesday. There was a note with her, It said she was mine… And I’m not going to allow her to be homeless. Or alone. The note said she was mine,” he shrugged, “so, she’s mine.”

Enjolras just looked at him for a moment. “It sounds like you’ve your mind made up,” he said. His eyes were earnest, questioning. At Combeferre’s nod, he merely nodded in return, a slight frown pressing at the corners of his lips. Then he stood, and continued the meeting.

When he was finished and everyone started milling about, he turned back. “Are you sure about this? It won’t interfere-“

“She will interfere, I’m sure of it,” Combeferre said strongly. When Enjolras gave him an almost fearful stare, he softened. “But not in a way that will affect my overall participation in the group. My opinions are still the same, my drive to achieve a better world remains unchanged. The only thing that is different is-“

“In my experience, babies change things, Combeferre,” Enjolras replied, fear replaced with steel. His face twisted into near-cruel lines. Combeferre was familiar with this expression upon his friend’s face, but seldom had it ever been turned on him. Grantaire after a particularly interesting drunken comment? Yes. The police at rallies? Yes. Political debates during election season? Yes. Combeferre himself? Almost never.

“Enjolras,” he said softly. “How much experience do you have with infants?”

“Combeferre,” his friend replied. “That is irrelevant. How can you avow yourself to our…our purpose in the same way as before? You can’t. This will make that impossible.”

“Her name is Emma,” Combeferre said softly, almost matching his friend in his flinty tone. And Enjolras pushed himself back up from his previous position leaning over the table. His eyes locked on the child for a moment, before he silently gathered his things and left the Musian. 

Combeferre had been friends with Enjolras for nearly 19 years. They had never fought. Ever. This feeling settling in his chest was unfamiliar. He took a deep breath and absently rubbed Emma’s back. He could’ve sworn that she sighed into his ear.

“He’ll be back,” came a voice from across the table. Combeferre looked up to find Courfeyrac occupying the seat just across the table from him, smiling earnestly. “You know he loves you. “

“I do. I also know he loves his cause,” Combeferre answers softly.

“You of all people,” Courfeyrac returns, his grin fading only slightly, “should know that, on most days, even the cause comes after his friends.”

“I do know that, Courfeyrac,” he replied. “I know it very well.”

“Then you also know that he’ll come back,” Courfeyrac reassured. Then he laughed, an easy smile upon his face, “Besides, God knows, you guys can’t be separated for more than twenty-four hours without the world ending.” And he smiled another moment at Combeferre, who even managed a half-hearted smile back. And then he was off, pecking Jehan on the cheek before walking him to the door. Jehan who gave Combeferre a sympathetic nod, before twisting out of Courfeyrac’s reach and coming back to wrap his arms gently around Combeferre’s neck.

“Jehan-“ he tried.

“I know she’s there and I’m being careful,” Jehan replied, pulling back slightly. “I wouldn’t hurt her. And he’ll come around. He loves you like the brother he never had. And love will always win in these situations.” Jehan shrugged. Courfeyrac came and stood next to him, smiling slightly in his boyfriend’s direction.

“Perhaps,” Combeferre said slowly. And Jehan just leaned in and kissed him gently on the forehead, then the baby gently on the head.

“’Perhaps’ he says,” he smiles sadly as he pulls away. “But I suppose you don’t have to be sure. I am, so you don’t have to be.” And then he gave another small smile before grasping Courfeyrac’s hand. And then they were gone.

Joly and Bossuet followed soon after, bidding everyone a quick goodbye, saying that Musichetta wanted to meet them downtown for a late dinner. Joly smiled at Combeferre as he exited, albeit a little hesitantly, but no less happily than normal. Bossuet offered him a concerned, and perhaps a bit of a sympathetic look. He waved them both off with a small smile of his own, trying to dislodge the pressing feeling in his chest. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like it was going anywhere.

Bahorel and Grantaire followed suit, Bahorel clapping him on the back before apologizing loudly for startling the baby (who had woken, but was staying almost quiet as Combeferre held her). Grantaire, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, just offered him a bit of a smile before Bahorel swept him through the door, off to whatever bar they’d occupy until the sun rose the next morning.

And then Combeferre thought he was alone. He set Emma in his lap, adjusting her so that her neck was supported, and she was looking up at him. Her eyes really were the bluest things in the world.

And, Jesus, when did she become something to fight with Enjolras over? When did she become something that may very well conflict with what he was trying to do here, the change he so wanted to affect?

He asked all these questions. But the logical side of him already had an answer: Tuesday, a little past nine p.m.

He sighed a little to himself. Weren’t life-changing things meant to take more time than this?

“You did the right thing,” there was suddenly a voice, and Combeferre looked up to find Feuilly sitting across from him, a soft look on his face. “In my opinion, at any rate.”

Combeferre smiled a small, genuine smile at that. “She’s a beautiful baby. I don’t see much of you in her yet, but I guess that time will tell, won’t it?” Feuilly gave him a genuine smile.

“Or it won’t,” Combeferre sighed. Feuilly raised an eyebrow.

“But…you’re keeping her regardless?”

“Of course.”

Feuilly smiled good-naturedly. “I’ve had an influence on you.”

“A good one,” Combeferre said. Emma clenched a fist around his finger and he found himself smiling. “I’m glad you told me, honestly.”

“About my time in the foster system?” Feuilly asked. Combeferre nodded.

“You should tell Enjolras about it,” he said.

“So that he can add it to his laundry list of causes?” Feuilly sighed, an eyebrow cocked. “He has enough on his plate.”

“You of all people know how much change needs to be brought. And where there are children involved…” Combeferre said, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah… Yeah, I know.” Feuilly was a contractor with architectural aspirations. He could build anything, but he loved to draw. His upbringing, though difficult, had taught him that hard work was the only way to climb the ladder – to become successful. Or, at least that was the only way he had ever considered. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking of the couple that had taken him in – the couple who weren’t bad people, but who certainly shouldn’t have been trusted to care for a child. Especially not a sixteen year old who had spent too much time in the system already.

“But you don’t want to bother him?” Combeferre suggested softly.

“No. I actually don’t want to relive it,” Feuilly replied, just as softly. Combeferre looked up and met his eyes.

“I could tell him,” he said softly. “If he’ll listen.”

“He always listens to you,” Feuilly replied.

“And he reveres you,” Combeferre smiled.

“I’d listen to either of you,” said a voice from the doorway. They turned in tandem to find Enjolras standing there, posture still ramrod straight, but hair unusually mussed – as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times. “But whoever speaks first has my ear.”

Feuilly promptly stood and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I actually have to be up tomorrow. For work. But, Combeferre, I believe, has quite a few things to say.” And he smiled, as Combeferre pulled on his elbow.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“You did the right thing, ‘Ferre,” Feuilly said, laughing lowly. “He just needed a few minutes to realize that. And I do have to work in the morning.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then: “Thank you.” When Feuilly gave him a questioning look, he replied with, “For telling me I did the right thing.”

Feuilly merely clapped him on the shoulder with a knowing smile. Then he was gone. And Enjolras was back in place at his end of the table.

And then there was silence.

“I’m sorry I – “

“I don’t believe – “

They started and stopped at the same time. Then Combeferre smiled, as Enjolras held up a hand and continued.

“I’m sorry I…said the things that I said… I should know well enough to-to trust you,” he said. “And I do trust you. Implicitly. It’s just-“

“This changes things,” Combeferre said, indicating in infant resolutely holding onto his finger. She looked up, her big eyes looking from Combeferre to Enjolras. Enjolras looked down for a moment, at her, before returning his gaze to his friend.

“But that doesn’t have to be…a bad thing, right?” Enjolras asked. And for the first time in years, there was supplication in his gaze.

“No,” Combeferre said. “No it doesn’t.” And Enjolras smiled, slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “I haven’t changed in the least, Enjolras. I just have… one more thing to think about.”

Enjolras nodded. “I understand that. I just needed some time, I suppose, to let it sink in.”

“And has it?” Combeferre asked, with an easy quirk of the lips.

Enjolras sighed as he returned it. “It has… I realized that, if anyone could do this, it’s you.”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “Not yourself?”

Enjolras grimaced in response. “No. Babies… Elude me. You can’t speak or reason with them and all they do is cry…” He was looking at Emma as he said this. Combeferre could almost swear she was staring back witheringly.

“They do a little more than that, Enjolras,” Combeferre stated, smiling, “give them some credit.”

Enjolras didn’t break his staring contest with the baby as he replied. “If they ever warrant it, I will.” And Combeferre snorted.

“You know, you never answered my question earlier,” Enjolras said after a couple moments’ comfortable silence. He stared another moment at the baby before meeting Combeferre’s questioning gaze.

“What question was that?”

“How are we getting to the rally this weekend?” Enjolras smiled.

And Combeferre mimicked Emma’s withering look. “I’m sure I can arrange something. If not, most of us do drive and we can carpool,” he said drily. Enjolras’s smile turned fond for a moment, before settling again on the baby. Following his friend’s gaze, Combeferre promptly picked her up, holding her against his chest again.

“Would you like to hold her?” he asked, to which Enjolras shook his head fervently.

“No. You can keep her,” he said quickly. “I think I’ll keep my distance until she can talk…”

“Good luck with that,” Combeferre said. “According to your mother, the best years are those when the child can’t talk.” Enjolras looked up, aghast.

“You called my mother?” he asked.

“Yes… Who else could I have called?” Combeferre asked, arching an eyebrow. Enjolras conceded with a nod that there really wasn’t anybody. Combeferre had been raised by his grandparents… Enjolras had helped him bury his grandfather two years ago and his grandmother was in no state, these days, to give him baby advice. She hadn’t been in too great of a state at all since Pop had died.

Combeferre didn’t like to think about it.

And that’s why he’d called Enjolras’s mom, knowing she’d be open and receptive. Knowing that she wouldn’t ask too many questions and would treat him just like she would her son. Even as her son resolutely refused to accept any kind of funding, any kind of anything (except, perhaps, love and the occasional holiday stay).

Combeferre completely understood where she came from, saying the time that Enjolras couldn’t talk had been the easiest time.

“Did she say anything else?” Enjolras inquired.

“Nothing that you’d be interested in hearing, I promise,” Combeferre said gently. And then Emma made a sound, a discontented sound. And suddenly she had his full attention as he tried to stave off the crying he was sure was coming. He took a quick peek at his watch and realized he needed to feed her. He was nearly fifteen minutes off the schedule the baby books had told him to set.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Enjolras asked, sounding ill at ease.

Combeferre shook his head with a slight smile. “No, that’s fine. I have to get her home anyway.” He then placed Emma back into her car seat, gently hooking the straps around her little shoulders before straightening and digging in his pocket for his car keys.

And then he saw it. Once more he caught that look on his friend’s face, the almost fearful one, and he stopped. “Anything the matter?” he asked gently. And Enjolras just looked at him for a moment.

“I-I,” and Combeferre was almost scared, because Enjolras never stuttered. If there was something Enjolras was meant for, it was words in all their glory. “I’ll still be able to – to call you and stuff, right?” And then he looked at the floor for a moment and cleared his throat. “What I mean is-“

“Enjolras, when I said I hadn’t changed I didn’t just mean towards the cause,” Combeferre said, a slight smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He reached across the table and covered his friend’s hand with his own. “You’re my best friend. Nothing could ever change that.”

And Enjolras smiled before looking down for a moment, running his free hand through his hair. Combeferre leaned back, before standing and then gathering up the baby in her car seat. He waited for his friend to gather his thoughts.

“Feuilly’s right you know,” came the quiet words, just as Combeferre began to fear that no words were coming. When Combeferre’s questioning gaze met Enjolras’s penetrating one, the blond continued, “You absolutely did the right thing.” 

And those words rang in Combeferre’s head as he buckled Emma into the car not five minutes later. He silently acknowledged that while Madame Enjolras had preferred the years when Enjolras couldn’t speak, sometimes his friends’ words were exactly what he needed to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on having 14 installments of this? I'm working on the third right now. 
> 
> If you ever want to find me, I'm on Tumblr: http://ecriture-de-la-fangirl.tumblr.com  
> You can come talk to me, if you like. I'll answer any questions you have. Unless they're about, like, complicated physical science. Because I know less about that then I know about how to be human - and trust me, I have no idea what I'm doing. 
> 
> That aside, I hope you have a wonderful day!


End file.
